My Haunted House
by CorruptedSmile
Summary: Don't worry, the Winchester brothers are on their way to help you with all your exorcising needs. B:tVS/SPN. COMPLETED.


**Disclaimer:** And here we go again. I don't own anything you recognise, I probably do own everything you don't recognise and I'm not making any profit from this story. It's purely fan_fiction_.

Joss Whedon and others own 'Buffy: the Vampire Slayer'. 'Supernatural' belongs to Eric Kripke, Kim Manners and other people who are not me.

**Crossover:** Buffy: the Vampire Slayer / Supernatural

**Pairing:** None, actually. It does have a slight _het_ feel to it, though.

**Rating:** Rated T. Mild swearing and implying adult situations. *points at Dean and Xander* Their fault. No surprise there.

**Spoilers:** Xander lost his eye and has been back from Africa for awhile now. He now lives in *blindly stabs a finger at a map of America* Hart, Texas? That's a real place? No way.

Okay, I can appreciate the irony. The Heart lives in Hart. For those of you who don't get what I'm saying, 'hart' is the Dutch word for 'heart'. Don't try to tell me that you don't appreciate the irony, because I won't believe you.

**Summary:** Don't worry, the Winchester brothers are on their way to help you with all your exorcising needs.

XXX

"talking"  
time and/or place  
_emphasis_

XXX

**Story: My Haunted House**

**By CorruptedSmile**

Hart Hotel

"So, tell me about this place. What are we doing here, Sammy?"

Dean flopped down on his bed. As beds go, this one wasn't so bad. He had _definitely_ had worse; like their last — well, second to last now — hotel room. That one had been way worse.

"It's Sam, not Sammy. How many times do I have to tell you this? You know what — never mind," Sam said exasperated. Sometimes he really got the feeling that his brother was — and always would be — stuck on I–am–a–Bitchy–Teen–Queen mode.

"Apparently, this is a small place —"

"No, really? I really hadn't noticed that," Dean interrupted his little brother from his position on The Chosen One. The chosen bed, that is. "What with the exciting Main Street we drove through that had — let's all gasp — three shops."

Acting as if he hadn't heard his brother, Sam kept reading out loud. "— and the median resident age is 28.1 years. That's perfect for your scamming business, Dean. And it says here that Spanish and English are the two most spoken languages." He looked at his older brother and muttered, "Thank goodness they speak English here."

Having heard his brother's muttering, Dean glared. He knew exactly why Sammy was muttering about that and disliked thinking about that particular time of his life.

XXX

Then the other things his brother had talked about started to sink in. Lifting up his head, Dean looked disbelievingly at his little brother.

"Are you saying that you found nothing on this supposedly haunted house?" Dean asked, frowning as if he was solving a difficult riddle.

"Nope, nothing. Well, that's not very surprising, really. Buffy told me this house was built in 1897 — and I don't know how she found out about that — but if the median resident age is even remotely right, then it's highly possible that they have never even heard of the place. Willow said that it had been empty for a long time, before the current owner moved in," Sam explained to his brother, while still looking at the screen of his laptop.

"Well, that's one possibility, but I'm sure there are others. I'm just too tired to think of them right now," Dean said in way of answer, putting his head back down on the bed with a deep sigh.

"Thinking? You wish!" Sam snorted.

"So, when are we going to visit this place?" Dean asked, pretending he hadn't heard his little brother say that.

"Tomorrow afternoon might be best. Willow told me that the owner works from home, so he should be able to let us in. But first we should do a general scan of the outside of the house. Maybe we'll be able to find what's wrong with the house, without having to bother the owner." Sam closed his laptop and started towards to bathroom. "I call first shower!"

"No! Damn it! Sammy, I'm so getting you for that, bitch!" Dean threatened through the closed bathroom door.

"Yeah, yeah, cry me a river. Just shower after me or tomorrow, jerk," Sam answered, not even responding to his brother calling him Sammy. Steam was rapidly filling the room. Oh, he couldn't wait to wash away the grime and dust from the road. A hot shower was just the thing he needed, no doubt about it.

Dean grumbled and subsided. He knew that — at the moment, at least — his brother had him right where he wanted him. He glared at the closed door and grumbled, "Bitch, you're not getting away with it that easily. You'd better watch yourself, Sammy, because when you least expect it . . ." He trailed off and flopped down on his bed, not so patiently waiting for his turn and hoping that his little brother didn't use up all the hot water.

XXX

The Next Day At The Haunted House

"Ringing at the door, Max. I know you heard it, so you can stop barking now. I heard it too," Xander chastened his dog, while walking — as fast as he could with an excited dog dancing around his feet — to his front door.

XXX

"A barking dog. You know what that means, Dean." Sammy laughed at the pout his brother had on his face. Dean would — of course — deny that he pouted, but he knew better. He got a teasing look in his eyes, when Dean refused to answer. "Drool on everyone, but especially on _you_!"

"I don't know why dogs like me so much, anyway," Dean said while glaring in his brother's direction. "Now, be quiet. I hear footsteps coming this way."

XXX

The man opening the door had on an eye patch. That was the first thing they noticed. The second thing they noticed was the German Shepherd standing next to the man. A German Shepherd that was growling lowly and tapping its left front paw on the ground.

Xander pulled out his gun and levelled it at the two man standing on his front step. He glared. "Shit! Who the hell are you?"

Dean pulled out his own gun in answer. "We? Who the hell are you? Someone rings your doorbell and you just pull your gun out? For no reason? Where are your manners, man? You could just tell them — _us_ to leave!"

Xander barked out a laugh. "May I be frank, kind sir?" he asked mockingly, raising a teasing eyebrow. "You two wouldn't happen to be the Winchester brothers, would you?" He looked from the tall one to the short one and back again, all while keeping his eyebrow raised.

"Depends on who's asking," Sam said lightly. He tried to sound teasing, but the distrustful look on his face and the tense shoulders as he eyed the gun that was still aimed at them, belied his tone of voice.

XXX

"So, you _are_ the Winchester brothers!" Xander grinned and gave a quick bow. "Xander Harris, at your service."

"Xander Harris? Friend of The Two Original Slayers and The Great Witch? You're a legend, man!" Sam stared at the man in front of him in awe — and a bit of adoration. He couldn't believe that he was looking at the man whose name was a curse to some and the answer to their prayers for others.

"People still call them that? Because I could totally hear the emphasis and the capitals you used." Xander grinned. "But yes, I am _that_ Xander Harris," he said. "Willow did this, didn't she? I told her not to send anyone, but she always thinks she knows best." He rolled his eyes at the thought of his best friend.

"Yeah, Willow did send us. But we had no idea she was sending us to _you_. She just told us this was a haunted house case. Right up our alley, so to speak," Dean answered. He looked at the man who was still standing in the doorway. "Look. Why don't we lower our guns? Maybe we can talk about this some more inside?"

Xander stepped out of their way and walked further into the hallway, Max following him obediently. "Sure. The living room is through this door." After walking into the living room, he suddenly stopped. "Do you want a drink? I don't have anything alcoholic. Or anything else, really. But I pour a mean glass of water. Is water okay?"

Xander looked over his shoulder — just in time to see both brothers nod in agreement. "Good. Make yourselves comfortable. I'll be right back with the drinks." With that, he left the two on their own in the living room, while he went to the kitchen to get the promised drinks.

XXX

"Hey, Xander? Why was your dog growling at us like that?" Sam asked through the open door leading to the kitchen.

"Oh, that. I assume you also saw him tapping his left front paw on the ground?" He looked at them over his shoulder and saw them both nodding. "Well, both those things together are his way of showing that he could smell gun powder on you two. I trained him for that specific thing. You know, like someone would train those police dogs to search for drugs? That's why I pulled my gun on you," Xander answered from the kitchen. "That specific bit of training has come in handy."

"Really? You trained him? Must be nice to have a protector like that near you at all times," Sam replied, after the shock wore off.

"Yeah, it's great. He's really good at it. I'm training him to sniff out sulphur now. That also comes in handy in the demon hunting business," Xander said, before walking in the living room, their drinks in his hands.

Taking a small sip of the refreshingly cold water, Dean settled in the couch a bit better, before getting down to business. "Why did Willow tell us to come here for a haunted house case? I mean, well, she must have known that you were living here."

"Yeah, about that . . . If you can stay until five pm, you'll notice soon enough why she wanted you to exorcise my house," Xander answered, after throwing a quick glance at his watch.

"Sure, we'll stay. If you don't mind," Sam answered for both him and his brother.

"Of course I don't mind. I wouldn't have asked, if I minded. You'll see the reason for sending you in just under ten minutes." Xander looked at them, a broad smile on his face. "Interested in ice cream? You know, for while we're waiting."

Giving each other a quick look, both Dean and Sam nodded.

XXX

5 pm

"Please tell me that you're seeing this too, Sammy," Dean whispered to his brother, but never looked in his direction.

Eyes wide open so he didn't miss a thing, Sam could only nod and give a whispered "I do too" in answer to Dean's question.

"I can't believe this." Dean turned to look at Xander. "You, my friend, have your very own haunted house filled with _babes_! It's like the playboy mansion — only in a really dead way."

"I know! Isn't it great? Every day at five pm on the dot, they come and make their way down the stairs towards the backyard." Xander beamed. "Look at them. Bikini's everywhere, long legs and lean bodies a plenty, C-cups and up." He looked back at the girls making their way down the stairs. "To tell you the truth, I think that Willow is just jealous that I can see this every day and she can't. Kennedy wouldn't let her come here every day, you see. She probably figured that if she wasn't allowed to have it, no one else should be allowed to have it either. That's probably why she sent you guys here."

Looking at the long line of ghostly model look-a-likes, Dean had only one thing to say, "There is no way we are making them go away. I mean, they aren't doing anything _wrong_. So, there is no actual need for our particular brand of expertise."

Sam and Xander could only agree with him. Because damn, these were some fine looking women — even if they were all dead.

**End.**

**A/N:** I have no idea where this came from, not a clue. I mean, normally I'm totally into slash, so where in god's name did this come from? Well, doesn't really matter, now does it? It's here now and, apparently, it's here to stay. And even though it does have slight het overtones, this story — I kind of like it. Okay, I kind of really like it. Hey, I'm allowed to, it's my story, after all.

Reviews are very much appreciated. Flames are not to be given to me, unless you want to be heavily mocked. Oops, sorry. I meant to say: Unless you want _them_ to be heavily mocked. Honestly, I don't condone flames. Either you break someone's heart with them or you meet someone like me who will mock them severely. It's not because _you_ don't like a story that it gives you the right to make fun of it.


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